Tangled
by That Buggy Girl
Summary: Rajura always knew Naaza was a bit crazy. He just never knew how much so... violence, yaoi
1. Chapter 1

Naaza usually kept to himself. Rajura had always thought it was because he hated the world so much, but he was beginning to suspect it was in actuality due to the younger man's inability to behave properly in social settings. He had bad manners when he ate. He interrupted when others were talking. He also had a peculiar habit of muttering to himself under his breath, hands fluttering as if he were having a conversation with an invisible acquaintance.

Though he knew Naaza's life had been shit and no one had ever taught him how to act like a civilized being, it drove Rajura crazy.

Naaza had his own strange, yet oddly compelling, ways about him. When he was lucid enough, he could carry on an intelligent, meaningful conversation. His articulation was puzzling; he could speak so well and without any of the gutter talk Rajura had always expected of him. How he had learned polite speech, but no other niceties of society left the older man rather curious.

He was also a brilliant healer; he could make any injury or illness better. Rajura didn't know much about medicine or herbs himself, but Naaza was a natural. You couldn't cross him, or you'd be facing the possibility of poison tea; he was just as skilled with poison as with medicines.

And he was deadly with a sword.

Rajura found him intriguing, in a way he couldn't explain. Though he'd aged and filled out some since he was recruited, he was still scrawny and thin. The power housed in his wiry frame was astounding; in hand-to-hand combat he wasn't that strong, but put a blade in those hands and he was lethal. His movements –long, lean and graceful, swooping in on his target- were captivating; watching him practice was one of Rajura's guilty little pleasures. He enjoyed the art of sword so much; it was almost as if he were dancing, rather than fighting.

And he was so quirky, so intelligent. Rajura hadn't expected him to be so smart. But he was a clever, calculating man, whose ideas were usually somewhat obscure and crazy, but often effective. He didn't play nice with others, but if you gave him a task and told him to get it done, he was usually flawless in his execution. Usually.

He was a strange man and Rajura's respect for him had been grudging in the beginning.

Over time, that respect had become genuine. Rajura didn't doubt that Naaza could have been somebody, if his unfortunate looks hadn't left him feared and loathed by the world's general populous. Instead, he was a pawn in some one else's game; a man with the behavior and maturity of a child. He got excited over the simplest little things and lost his head easily over others. He was crazy and childish and everything Rajura generally found obnoxious.

Yet he was utterly fascinating.

Rajura hated himself for taking an interest in Naaza. He didn't need any one, especially not an eccentric green-haired lunatic who would rather talk to himself than another person.

It was a dangerous dance in the beginning, and Naaza didn't know the steps. He shied away from the casual touches –a light brush of the arm here, a bump of hips in a narrow hallway there- and didn't understand more overt come-ons. Rajura was surprised at how innocent Naaza had turned out to be; the puzzled look on his face every time he was touched outside combat and training made the white-haired man want to laugh. He couldn't help smirking when he made that expression surface, it was just so damn amusing to see that cocky bastard confused.

It was a hollow satisfaction, though. He wanted more.

Naaza was delicious in bed; pale and writhing, sweat slicked and pliable. He never argued against what Rajura wanted and his taste was acidic, addicting, toxic. He was poison, though not the kind that caused instant death. Instead, he would seep into the veins and stay there, dormant, and kill slowly, with the passage of time. He hardly did anything, just clung to Rajura, who wondered which of them was the spider, and which the fly, and tangled his long fingers in unruly curls of silver and pulled.

Getting Naaza to respond with things other than tugs on his hair or fingernails clawed down Rajura's back had been difficult, but it paid off in the end. He was still slightly violent –the scratches and occasional bites were more than enough to prove it- but participated more, making soft, throaty sounds and whimpering beautifully with his climax, body trembling, face buried in the crook of Rajura's neck.

Rajura was never sure if it was Naaza he enjoyed so much, or the fact that he could make this proud, violent man melt beneath him.

He never mentioned it to any one else; Naaza was his dirty little secret. If Anubis knew, he never commented on it. Rajura was never quite sure what he and Naaza talked about, but he was fairly certain it didn't involve sex. Naaza mostly ignored Kayura; Rajura felt safe to assume this weird, yet satisfying, relationship he had with the green-haired man was a secret.

It only bothered him in rare moments after, when Naaza was curled up and sleeping. He always slept the same way, folded in on himself. He never let his guard down; even asleep he was on the defense. He never presented Rajura with his back, which bothered the older man. Did Naaza really think Rajura would kill him in his sleep, in the afterglow of sex? Every time, it was exactly the same. Naaza would scrunch up, back against the wall. He usually buried his face in his arm, tousled hair falling over his forehead, sometimes plastered there if he was sweaty. Rajura knew he was trying to protect himself, but it just made him look vulnerable.

Vulnerable. It was a funny word to think of when considering Naaza. Rajura reached over, brushing back the younger man's bangs gently to get a better look at his face. Naaza trembled a little, making an upset sound, and curled in on himself more. The other man regarded him a little longer, watching the subtle movement of his body as he breathed, the twitch of one dusky purple eyelid, and wondered why all of this made him feel guilty, when he couldn't remember ever having been guilty for anything in his life.

Naaza rarely slept through the night. Rajura woke most mornings to find him and his scattered clothing gone. It was for the best, he supposed; the last thing he needed was Anubis or Kayura catching Naaza leaving his room. It wasn't that he was ashamed of what he did, it was just that they didn't need to know.

During the day, Naaza was his usual sullen self. He kept to himself and went about his business quietly, so different from the person he became at night. He wasn't crazy in the moonlight; wasn't brooding. He was still dangerous, but in a completely different way. Rajura knew what was beneath the façade of sleepy disinterest; knew the person Naaza was when he came to life.

A smug grin always crossed his face at the thought that only he knew this vibrant, passionate part of Naaza.

He was never quite sure how Naaza felt about all of it. He never asked. It occurred to him that he might be taking advantage of the younger man, but he only entertained that thought for the barest of seconds. Naaza could say no, after all. Rajura wasn't forcing him; he came at night of his own free will. He justified it to himself with these thoughts, chasing away a nagging feeling that something wasn't quite right with the situation.

It was, then, like a dagger had been shoved unmercifully through his ribs when, one night, Naaza came to him already rumpled. He was as composed as always, eyes lidded sleepily, thin lips drawn into a neat little line on his pale face, the standard non-expression. But his clothes…All wrinkled. His yukata was falling open, exposing one pale shoulder. And he smelled –Rajura's single eye narrowed- of Anubis.

Naaza didn't say anything. He didn't have to.

Rajura's first thought was to kill Anubis. How dare he touch what wasn't his? There was no honor in taking what belonged to some one else. And surely he must have taken, for Naaza already had all his needs taken care of. Surely he wouldn't go to Anubis – Anubis, who knew nothing – when he had everything already.

Or perhaps Naaza had gone on his own, bored with what Rajura had to offer, the little whore.

The icy, bitter feeling flowed slowly through his veins, spreading to every last nerve and igniting them with painful, white-hot jealousy, so cold it burned. He trembled with rage; with anger, fists clenching at his side. And still Naaza watched, passive, beetle-black eyes never leaving Rajura's. Naaza's face was still blank, but Rajura knew the message the absent expression would convey: "Come little spider, let me swallow you whole. I will destroy you. And, still, you will come back, because you need me."

Rajura drew himself up, only one scant inch taller than Naaza. He had once been able to make that inch seem intimidating, but Naaza just tipped his head up slightly, gaze still fixed, dark eyes piercing one steel-blue one and stealing a glimpse of Rajura's soul. He smiled a little, and Rajura's hand flashed out.

Naaza stumbled backwards; caught himself at the last moment. The little smile became a grin, manic and taunting, as he rubbed his stinging cheek. His pupils dilated when Rajura struck him again, and he laughed, a dry sound, echoing within the room and escaping through the thin rice paper walls. How dare he? Another blow. How dare he laugh like that, like it was funny. A punch this time. He was laughing so hard he was crying and Rajura's heart constricted painfully. A joke, was he? Soon he was crying too, though for different reasons he couldn't quite identify.

The wild laughter stopped abruptly, and Naaza wiped blood from his split lip, looking down at his fingers, then back up at Rajura. He watched, fascinated, as Rajura scrubbed at his eye, trying to stop the unwanted tears and maintain some dignity. Rajura lowered his head, hiding behind a curtain of silver curls, and cursed Naaza's ancestors.

He started when cold fingers –Naaza was always cold- lifted his chin and he found himself once again trapped in that dark gaze. Naaza's mouth was bright with blood, one eye purpled, but for once not with makeup. "He never touched me." A pause, "Not that way." A deadly whisper, now, "Only you are allowed."

Rajura felt a little faint.

He sagged a little, into Naaza's waiting arms, and clung to his thin frame. Naaza simply held him, quiet, cracked lip still leaking blood. Stroked his hair a little. Rajura didn't apologize. He wouldn't apologize. It was Naaza's own fault, anyway.

Rajura was never quite sure what had gone through Naaza's mind that night or why he had let that happen. He never asked and Naaza never explained. The younger man seemed satisfied, though; as if he had staged some sort of test, and Rajura had passed.

Naaza stayed, for the first time, the entire night, curling closer to Rajura as he slept.

Rajura lay awake and wondered if perhaps he was losing his mind.


	2. Chapter 2

Breakfast was eerily quiet the following morning. It was usually the most lively meal of the day, with Kayura and Naaza sniping at each other across the low table while they were freshly awake. They didn't exactly hate one another, but weren't overly fond of each other, either, and were constantly picking at each other like children. It amused Anubis, who was fond of them both, but annoyed Rajura, who preferred his meals to be civil affairs.

Naaza sat placidly in his place at Rajura's right side, picking seaweed out of his miso and eating it mechanically. Rajura watched him covertly, studying his face. The bruising around his eye had blossomed to a violent eggplant purple and his lip was swollen and crusty where it had been split. He took a bite, chewing, and winced when the wound pulled open and blood glistened on his thin lips again.

Rajura felt another twinge of guilt at the thought that he caused that.

Anubis' glare was enough to burn through anything, and Rajura could feel it fixed on him. Even without that dark glare, Rajura would have been able to tell –easily- that Anubis was Pissed Off. He was protective of Naaza, with whom he had some weird friendship, and Rajura knew that Anubis was very unhappy with him.

Kayura was looking back and forth between them all, trying to figure out what was going on. It was rarely that quiet and it was bothering her a bit that she was the only one who didn't seem to know what had happened to make it so. Naaza was even eating nicely for once, chopsticks clacking dully as he fished around in his soup for the bits he favored. Tossing her ponytail over her shoulder, the girl set her bowl down and looked at the three men. "I want to know what's going on."

Naaza ignored her, feigning great interest in his breakfast.

"Why don't you ask that bastard?" Anubis nodded towards Rajura, chopsticks pointing in what would have been a menacing way, were it not for the piece of fish between them.

Rajura shot back a glare of his own, rising abruptly from the low table and leaving his breakfast almost completely untouched - "It's none of your concern." – and stormed out of the room.

With a huff, Kayura looked up at Anubis, who simply shook his head.

It was so much easier to be angry at Rajura over this whole situation, Anubis thought. He knew damn well that Naaza had provoked the other man, but Naaza was insane. It was much easier to leave him unaccountable for his actions and pile all the blame on Rajura, with whom Anubis was not as close. Besides, Naaza needed protecting from himself; he didn't understand what he was doing half the time.

Anubis was hardly surprised when, later, Rajura cornered him in the hall, silvery-blue eye intense, a scowl on his face. "What did you do to him?" The white-haired man demanded, fisting the front of Anubis' kimono in his thin fingers and dragging him closer.

"What did _I _do to him?" Anubis snorted, "You're the one who busted up his face." He brushed Rajura off, straightening his clothing. "You should think about what you're doing instead of just taking what you think you deserve."

Rajura seethed, color rushing to his cheeks. "_What did you do?_" His voice was tight, furious, "He smelled like you. His clothes were a mess. You did _something_ to him." How dare he lecture. Anubis had no right; he didn't know what he was talking about.

"What about what you do, huh? What about the way you fuck him every night, like he's trash? You think you can just do what you want with people and toss them aside when you're finished." The darker man snarled, "I never touched him; I'm not like _you_."

"What is _that_ supposed to mean??"

Anubis had never believed in dragons, not even as a child. His family had been homey and superstitious, always telling tales. 'Tousan had tried to frighten his children with tales of dragons, of giant serpents, who would crawl through the window at night to eat them if they were bad. Anubis had never believed; he knew 'Tousan wasn't serious. But Rajura was doing a damn good impression of the dragons Anubis had always imagined when his father told those stories; he was half-expecting flames to leap from the other man's mouth as he raved.

He tried not to laugh; there was nothing funny about this at all.

"I asked you a question!" Rajura's voice was quiet, but Anubis knew it lowered like that when he was the most angry.

"It means I don't fuck anything that walks." Anubis sobered a bit, frowning at Rajura, "This is what you did to Shuten and now that he's gone…" He paused, savoring the furious expression that crossed the older man's face, "Maybe you do really care about Naaza; I don't know. But you're a selfish man, Rajura, and you care most about one thing – Your own pleasure. When you get sick of him, you'll just cast him off. You didn't mourn much when Shuten died and I doubt you cared about losing any other little bitches in your past. Tell me, is it going to be different with Naaza?"

Rajura's face turned pink and he stared at Anubis, his single eye wide. What was there to say to an accusation like that? It wasn't true; it wasn't like that at all. But he doubted Anubis would ever believe him. "Think what you will." He ground out, turning on his heal and marching down the shadowy corridor.

Naaza was on the porch, pressing dokudami leaves to dry for later use. Rajura watched his hands, watching the tender way he touched the fragile leaves, the complete opposite of the way those fingers handled him at night. Watched the way that lean body moved -graceful- as Naaza worked. They way he turned his face upwards towards the watery sun, a small, peaceful smile playing across his bruised face. He really was a soft man, underneath it all, Rajura speculated, who just wanted his life to be a little easier.

Thinking on this, Anubis' words stung even more. Real, sane smiles were not common in Naaza's world. There were very few times when he was this relaxed or happy, and Rajura didn't want to be responsible for ruining that. He wouldn't throw Naaza away. He couldn't throw Naaza away. He was far too fascinating for Rajura to let him get away.

"Naaza." He stepped fully out on to the porch, sandals patting lightly, and simply waited for the younger man to acknowledge him.

A leaf fluttered to the ground, dropping from between Naaza's narrow fingers when he looked up. He rose, dusting off his kimono, and regarded Rajura with a bland expression, eyes half-lidded. He felt for a moment like he should say something, but did not know what sort of words would be adequate or appropriate, so he just looked upon the man, silent.

Rajura blinked, silvery-blue eye fixed on Naaza's damaged face.

He looked a little scared.

No, not scared. Taken aback, perhaps, or surprised. Almost as if he hadn't expected Rajura to hunt him down. He twirled a leaf absently between his fingers, gaze flitting around to settle on anything other than Rajura's face.

A frown crossed Rajura's face; he couldn't stand having Naaza's attention focused elsewhere. He wanted those intense eyes on him; always on him, looking through him into his very soul.

"What do you want?" Naaza turned, presenting the older man with his back for the first time, and stared out at nothing. He knew he couldn't look at Rajura, or he would forgive him for everything; not trusting him, beating the shit out of him, Shuten, everything. And Rajura didn't deserve to be forgiven so easily.

"It…doesn't have to be like this." Rajura responded quietly, not really answering the question.

"Like what?" Naaza's voice was soft, noncommittal. His gaze dropped to the ground, watching the grass rustle softly in the hot breeze. This was the only place where things would grow within the castle; it was Naaza's private garden, where he cultivated his plants and sat cross-legged on the porch, creating medicine and poisons. It was his place, where he felt most comfortable, but he suddenly felt very awkward.

"We can try to trust each other." Rajura did not like talking to some one who wasn't looking at him. Eye contact was a powerful weapon, he knew, and it displeased him that he did not have that advantage. He wasn't quite sure what Naaza might be feeling; that cursed non-expression never gave away a thing.

Naaza whirled around to face him, fists clenched at his sides, eyes wide and wild. "I did trust you!" He spat out, "I trusted you with my body, something I've never done before, and you treated me like I'm a whore."

"I'm sorry…" Rajura began, but Naaza cut him off, furious.

"You're only sorry because Anubis is making you feel guilty." He snapped, "I should have just listened to him." In a whirl of finely patterned silk and green, Naaza stormed off, leaving Rajura alone on the low porch wondering what had just happened.

He had seen Naaza angry before, of course, but nothing like this. That anger had never before been directed at him. And what was that he'd said? He should have just listened to Anubis…Rajura's brows knit. This all came back to Anubis and Rajura intended to find out why.


	3. Chapter 3

Naaza paced his room, fingers wound through his unruly hair, eyes squeezed shut. This was not good; not good; not good. He was close to coming unraveled over all of this; dangerously close.

In the beginning, it had been so easy. He just never thought about it. He knew Rajura was watching him constantly, but couldn't figure out why. It didn't matter why, though.

…Did it?

It didn't, he'd decided. He let Rajura do as he wanted and enjoyed it, reveling in the fact that he had this power over the older man, who would do anything to get what he wanted of Naaza. Initially, he hadn't understood just what it was Rajura desired of him. He was wary of anything sexual, especially where Rajura was concerned. But everything had fallen into place, and life was good.

Everything had been just _fine_ until the previous night, when Anubis had gotten involved.

Why he had decided to tell Anubis, he wasn't quite sure. There had been a lull in their conversation and he'd just…blurted it out.

"_Do you expect him to love you?"_ Anubis' incredulous voice echoed through his head. The dark man had gaped at him after his quiet admission that Rajura had been fucking him on a nightly basis and that he was happy with this arrangement. _"Don't delude yourself. Rajura doesn't love any one but himself."_

Love. The word was almost foreign to Naaza. No one had ever loved him in the scant fourteen years he'd lived in the mortal world. His parents had him beaten and left for dead, due to his unusual appearance. Everywhere he'd gone, people were quick to judge based on his looks. He'd had more things thrown at him than he could ever count, been beaten more times than he cared to remember and run out of more towns than one could imagine. In the Youjakai, it had hardly been different. No one loved another being; they simply loved things. Pain. Violence. Death. Power.

Naaza was a simple yet complicated man. He wanted none of these things, though he took to them easily. Living in hatred had left him vulnerable to false promises of respect and power and he found his existence simultaneously becoming easier and harder at the same time. It had been too much to deal with in the beginning; he'd done what he could, parting with little bits of his mind and his sanity here and there until it ebbed away entirely, leaving him a violent, angry shell of a man.

He had not died the many times he should have in the mortal world –perhaps it was shear luck that kept him alive, or fate, or any of those other things silly people believed in. The innocent boy Naotoki had died the day Naaza was born from the sloughed off skin of a once-perfect child, obedient and waiting for that call.

It startled Naaza to realize Naotoki had not died. He was merely sleeping this whole time; waiting to be awakened after four centuries of a poison-induced coma. The hatred had been toxic; the violence a slow drip of death. But Naotoki was alive; alive and trying to reemerge. A four hundred year slumber is hard to wake from, however, and Naaza wasn't quite certain he wanted to let his innocent former self back out from that poison cocoon.

He frightened himself by longing to hear that name –that childish name; _his_ name- fall from Rajura's sinful lips. He was seized by a sudden desire for the older man to know that name; to speak that name as if it was the only word which mattered. He wondered who Rajura was before; what his real name had been.

Naaza didn't expect Rajura to love him. He only wanted him to.

He was startled from his thoughts at the gentle wrapping of knuckles on wood. His pacing slowed and he slid the shoji open, blinking at Anubis, who stood in the hall, and trying to clear his mind. "What do you want?" He asked, voice slightly more harsh than he intended.

Anubis regarded him for a moment, silent. Then, "Are you okay?" His midnight eyes were assessing the damage to Naaza's pale face, taking in the vivid bruise, the crusty lip. He walked into the room uninvited; he and Naaza had been friends long enough that he didn't bother to ask any more.

"Get out." Naaza remained by the sliding door, watching the broad back of the larger man, expression unreadable. Inside, he was seething. Anubis had told him Rajura would only hurt him. That Rajura didn't give a shit about him. He had listened, and now everything was going to hell. To say he was angry was an understatement.

Anubis looked at him, surprised. "What?" He'd never been told to leave. He and Naaza were thick as thieves. They respected one another and spoke to each other civilly; not at all like this.

"I said get out." Naaza's eyes narrowed to slits, arms folding across his thin chest. The silk of his kimono glided across his skin, baring wiry limbs; water slipping on a slick surface. He looked dangerous this way, like the snake most people believed him to be, as he leaned with one hip propped against the doorframe.

"Why?" Anubis had believed them both to be angry at Rajura. This might have been so, earlier in the day. Naaza had indeed been angry with his lover, furious at the thought of being used, but that had faded away, fast being replaced by resentment towards Anubis, whom he felt had ill advised him.

"You ruined everything." Naaza's gaze was a hard stare, eyes glittering like smoldering coals. He had no idea that it was moments like this which lead Rajura to revere him; no idea exactly how deadly-powerful he really was. The word "sexy" was not part of his surprisingly sophisticated vocabulary, something which Anubis suspected would be part of his downfall.

"I'm not the one who beat you up." Anubis' own arms folded; he mirrored the smaller man's expression. "I'm concerned about you." He said bluntly, "I care."

"You have a funny way of showing it." Naaza scowled, "I was happy."

"He beat the shit out of you!" The darker man's voice had turned incredulous again, as if he couldn't believe Naaza had forgotten that fact. How could he so easily forgive their comrade for such an injustice?

"I provoked him." The reply came calm-as-you-please, "If I'd trusted him, none of this would have happened. Instead, I listened to you and look what happens." Naaza moved away from the door, indicating that the conversation was finished. "Now get out."

Anubis left, shaking his head as if Naaza were crazy.

Perhaps he was, to let Rajura beat him. To let the other man do as he pleased, no questions asked. But he didn't care any more. The simple fact was, Naaza was extremely tired of dealing with things. It was easier to just let others do as they pleased.

-

"What the hell is going on?"

Anubis nearly jumped out of his skin when a small hand reached out and grabbed him by the arm. Either Kayura had concealed herself well in the shadows, he admitted to himself reluctantly, or he'd been so lost in thought over this that he hadn't even noticed her presence. He wasn't sure which was worse; both seemed like equally bad reasons for her startling him so.

"Language." He reminded her, trying to get his heart to stop racing. He watched the girl for a moment, looked at her young, innocent face. She still had the face of a child, but he knew she was anything but. Kayura was as old as any of them, though she appeared so young still. She didn't deserve to be treated as a child, but it was hard not to be protective of her.

She frowned. "Don't avoid the question, Anubis." She hated being treated like that; she was no little girl. "I'm sick of all this…I want to know what's going on."

"It really isn't any of your business." He sighed, wishing there was an easy way to make all this insanity disappear. "It's between Rajura and Naaza."

"Then why are you involved?" Her hands were planted on her slender hips, a pout drawing itself across her face. Anubis eyed her appreciatively before reminding himself not to stare.

"Because I'm an idiot?"

His smile was weak, but she laughed a little anyway. Anubis was her favorite of the three of them; he was almost like a big brother. He didn't sulk or brood the way Naaza did and he wasn't a pompous ass like Rajura.

"Why did Rajura beat Naaza up?" She wasn't really expecting an answer, but found herself asking anyway. She wasn't totally positive, but had a striking suspicion she could con Anubis into anything. It had something to do with the fact that she was the only girl for miles and miles, she supposed, and that Anubis was exclusively heterosexual.

Anubis looked at her for a moment before he spoke. "He was pissed off. Naaza did something stupid, and Rajura was pissed about it."

Her curiosity piqued, Kayura's brows rose and she looked up at Anubis, her best pleading, girly expression on her face. "What did he do?"

He would regret telling her this. Anubis hesitated, a hand rising, palm pressed against his face. It was fairly embarrassing, and he knew it would sound ridiculous. "He made Rajura think I was sleeping with him." He mumbled into his hand, hoping she wouldn't catch what he said.

She did. Of course.

"What?!" Her shriek echoed down the dark corridor, followed by peals of laughter. She nearly collapsed, but hunched over instead, hands on her knees, ponytail sliding over her shoulder and bobbing as she shook with laughter.

Anubis waited. He knew when she was done laughing, she would question why Naaza would want Rajura to believe that, and this is where things would get tricky…


	4. Chapter 4

Naaza had cried often in the beginning.

Every night, when he went to bed, body screaming in pain at all the effort he'd put into the day, he had cried himself to sleep. He was used to surviving on his own; to a life of difficulty. But he wasn't used to being worked so hard, to having a structured day, to being put through such rigorous training. As he'd become more and more numb to his surroundings, however, and felt less, he'd gradually stopped crying until tears were something that almost rarely came.

After Anubis left, he found himself crying, face buried in a blanket to muffle the sounds. What was he going to do, now that he had messed up? Rajura thought he was a whore, he'd yelled at Anubis and everything was a mess. All of the anger had simply melted away, leaving him desperately uncertain about anything in his life.

He didn't know what to do. Naaza was a creature of habit and his nights with Rajura had long ago become part of the routine. If he didn't have that any more…

Naaza was so caught up in his sobbing, he didn't quite register when the shoji _shushed_ open again. Rajura looked at the hunched up figure of the man he'd come to admire, something in his chest aching at the sight of this proud man, fallen. Naaza should not cry, he decided. He should never cry.

Rajura stole through the room silently, crouching beside his crumpled lover. "Naaza…" He rested a hand on the other man's shoulder, careful, "Why are you crying?" It was heartbreaking, watching Naaza's frail form shake with wrenching sobs. Rajura felt himself wanting to comfort him, but was uncertain how to.

Naaza jerked at the touch, attempting to glare up at him. He only managed to look pathetic, however; his face was red and blotchy, damp from the tears. Rajura looked at him a moment, features softening, and reached a spindly hand towards him. Narrow fingers tenderly caressed a wet cheek in an uncharacteristic display of affection and Naaza's eyes widened, a few more tears dripping out.

"I'm sorry." It was all Rajura said, but it was enough. He suddenly found himself with an armful of Naaza as the other man surged forward, arms tight around him, face buried in his shoulder. He stroked Naaza's back in a clumsy attempt at soothing, holding him close as Naaza clung and continued to sob. "I never meant to hurt you." He murmured into the fluff of green hair, "Never. You did not deserve what I did."

"Rajura." It was the only thing Naaza could bring himself to say and his voice was muffled, face still pressed against the older man. "Rajuraaaa…" The name poured forth on an almost keening wail as he pulled away from the white haired man's shoulder to look up at him, still teary. Pathetic, but still so alluring.

"I'm here." Rajura held him, uncertain what else to do. He touched Naaza's face again, the pad of his thumb running gently across the bruise he had put there. Naaza winced, snuffling, and pulled back slightly from the touch with a whimper. The look on his face made Rajura burn with guilt. He held the broken man in his arms closer, wishing to make it up to him, but having no clue how.

Naaza was more injured than he had previously thought, though the injuries were not all sustained the previous night. He had come in to all of this wounded, a scared child, broken, beaten, destroyed – They all had. Precious things shattered easily; they were all still picking up the pieces. He didn't know how to comfort his companion, but he could learn.

Naaza inhaled, fingers still wound in the fabric of Rajura's kimono, and drew in the older man's scent as if it were a drug. Under the musty aroma of cobwebs and time, Rajura smelled like summers long forgotten; crisp sunshine. Bright things. Life. Rajura was alive, heart beating; he could feel the palpitations through his own thin chest, they were pressed so tightly together. Exhale. Inhale. The scent was heady; intoxicating. Naaza felt like he was drawing breath for the first time in centuries. He probably was, but he didn't care. For the first time since he could remember, he felt awake, a little more like himself.

Like Naotoki.

Rajura stroked his hair, fingers teasing the fine green strands. He felt Naaza sigh, snuggling against his chest, and smiled a little into that hair. Naaza was his; all his. No one else would ever touch the younger man. He would never give Naaza reason to want another. Rajura knew he was the only person Naaza had ever been with; he remembered all too well the pain and the blood and the stubborn refusal to cry that came with their first coupling. Rather than give in to the tears, Naaza had bit him, sharp teeth puncturing and bruising the delicate skin at the juncture of Rajura's neck and shoulder.

The guilt came creeping back with that memory. He hadn't been very concerned with what he may have been doing to Naaza that first night; he'd only wished to ease the sexual tension. It wasn't until later than he'd realized the younger man was a virgin, that no one had ever handled Naaza like that and that he had taken everything precious that was left in him like a thief in the night.

It wasn't until that exact moment that Rajura felt any guilt for stealing Naaza's last shred of innocence.

"It was a test." Naaza's voice was muffled, breath warm against his shoulder. He'd not moved his head yet; he was still burrowed close, clinging as if Rajura would disappear.

"A test?" Rajura echoed, blinking his single steel-blue eye. "What was a test?" He untangled his fingers from Naaza's hair, drawing that pale face away from the crumpled silk of his clothing to look in the other's eyes. He was confused; what was the younger man talking about? For a moment, he considered probing in Naaza's mind for a clear answer he knew he would never get. He refrained, though…That was a dangerous place, where he could get lost if he lingered too long.

Then something clicked, pieces falling into place. "What did Anubis tell you?" He queried softly.

Naaza ignored the questions, looking at him with the intense solemnity of a child. "I wanted to see if you care for me." The gravity of his expression; the seriousness of his voice…They sent chills down Rajura's spine. "If you would only be jealous, thinking I had been unfaithful…I thought perhaps it would show that you feel some sort emotions towards me."

"So you let me beat you up." Rajura blinked again, peering down at the wild man-child that was practically in his lap. Naaza reached up to touch his face, as if making sure he was really there and not just an illusion. Rajura caught the hand before it could touch him, however, and searching his glittering eyes again.

Naaza stared back at him, still so much a child. "I got an answer."

The white-haired man sighed. "Naaza-"

"Naotoki." Rajura was interrupted by a soft utterance of the name. Naaza's face had softened, dark eyes glittering with something that looked suspiciously like tears. He bit his lip; that name had not been spoken out loud in many, many years.

"What?" Rajura cocked his head, curious.

"That is my name." Naaza pulled away, turning and hugging himself, head bowed, "Naotoki." He was a foolish man, he knew, to expect that life back. Even though things had been so hard then, they had also been a lot less complicated…But he could never have that again, never grasp the past, not even for a second. He would never hear that name –**his** name- fall from Rajura's lips; never be that innocent, hopeful boy again. It didn't matter how much he tried or how hard he wished…

Rajura stared at the back of his head for a moment, taking in and absorbing this new bit of information. Over the years, it had been difficult to retain his own name; memories of who he had been before. Had Naaza really managed all this time to keep his true self intact somewhere, deep inside that insanity and anger? He reached out a hand, touching the soft green hair. "Naotoki."

Naaza started at the touch, jumping a little. He could feel Rajura's other hand on his shoulder, but he sat there woodenly, trying not to remember when life had been easier, because that was a time before Rajura; a time before he had been touched so kindly by another's hands. Did he really want to go back to that?

Rajura's hands turned him so that they were facing one another again and a gentle hand wiped moisture off his cheek. When had he started crying again? He drew a shuddering breath; he'd been crying his whole life, on the inside. But now, all of a sudden, it was as if a floodgate had been opened…He couldn't stop the tears from coming; didn't want to stop them.

"Naotoki." Rajura pulled him close again, testing the name once more and liking the way it fell from his tongue. "More time" it meant and more time was the one thing they had plenty of…They had all the time in the world. "Is that what you want me to call you?"

Naaza couldn't find the strength to respond; he simply fell further into the arms encircled around him. He was so tired; so very tired of it all. His face would heal. The cut on his lip was already scabbed over. But what of the ache tightening his chest? He suspected that would never go away. Would he ever feel like himself again? He had his answers, what more was there to live for? It would have been easier to be rejected; to exist only in that anger and hatred that had consumed him the past four centuries. He could not get used to being alive again.

Then Rajura was kissing him, deep and promising, hands beneath his chin to tilt his face up. He stared –surprised- into that single steely eye, so sharp, so bright. It was as if it was for the first time, which was ridiculous; their mouths had met like this so many times before. But it was different somehow and Naaza wasn't aware enough to ponder how. Rajura tasted the way he smelled, liquid sunshine, summer breezes; like all the bright, fresh things in the world. Like all the good things Naaza didn't deserve, which didn't make any sense. Rajura was sinful man.

"Naotoki." Rajura pulled away just long enough to whisper the name; sexy; seductive. Then he was plundering Naaza's mouth again, one hand wound through his hair, the other supporting him, arm wrapped around him. "Naotoki…" It came out as more of a moan that time, guttural and needy. Naaza could feel himself being lowered, Rajura's weight against him. His back hit the cool, crisp bedding; why was he suddenly undressed and why was everything moving in slow motion?

He slit his eyes open. Rajura was crouched between his thighs, stroking smooth skin, poised like a cobra ready to strike. Naaza wasn't scared; snakes didn't frighten him. Rajura's gaze had darkened; it was smoldering now. He looked down on Naaza, vulnerable and open, spread before him, waiting and all his, and felt the first pangs of love, right through his heart. Only he didn't know it yet, just that this man was beautiful in his own uniqueness and all his.

It felt like eternity as Naaza waited; waited for the usual routine, Rajura's aggressiveness, the desire, the drive, the sweet mix of pain and pleasure; blessed release. That one split second where he felt normal; where he wasn't crazy; where Rajura sobbed out his name –not his name!- like he was the only person in the world who mattered.

But Rajura had other plans. Every other night of love play had been all for his own pleasure…Tonight would be just for Naaza. He leaned in, stealing another kiss, fingers teasing along cool, pale flesh. Naaza whimpered softly into the kiss, shivering at all the little touches. Rajura had very talented fingers; he knew just how to find all of Naaza's most sensitive spots and exploit them. It didn't take much, really. Because Naaza was still so inexperienced, everything simply felt marvelous to him. No, it wouldn't take long at all…

Naaza was writing beneath him, fingers tangled in the rumpled bedding. No one had ever paid so much attention to his body before, not in a nice way. Rajura usually just took what he wanted, when he wanted. But this…He had no idea it could feel like this. His hips were flexing uncontrollably, Rajura was attempting to hold him still, he couldn't stop trembling and then all of a sudden! What Rajura was doing with his mouth! Naaza's eyes snapped open for a second, then slid shut as he whimpered, head tipped back. Rajura was still holding his hips steady; it was torture, not being allowed to thrust. He wanted to move. He needed to move. It was so hot; he was on fire; he was going to die he was dying he was dying he was---!

Peace.

Rajura purred a little, swallowing and stroking one of Naaza's quivering thighs gently. He crawled back up to capture the younger man's mouth, stroking a few tears from his pale cheeks. "You're beautiful…" He whispered before crushing their lips together. Naaza would have protested, if he could, but found himself too busy kissing the man above him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes:** Dear every one...If you bothered to come read the rest of this, I am apologizing for the wait! I'm soooooo sorry! I got involved in the Transformers fandom and forgot about finishing this and I apologize a thousand times. Anyway, here's the end and I hope those of you who remember this story will enjoy it!

By the way, **thevampiregyn**: Yes, Naotoki is his real name. I didn't make that up.

-----

Naaza woke late the following morning, a warm weight crushing him, pinning him to his futon.

Rajura was still sleeping, one hand tangled in Naaza's unruly hair. His head was pillowed on the smaller man's chest, his other arm possessively around Naaza's waist. It had been a long night; he'd gone as slow as he could, making sure to give Naaza as much pleasure as he possibly could. And it had been worth it, even though it had been torture for him, not being able to satisfy himself until he was certain Naaza was in heaven.

Still groggy, Naaza lifted his head slightly, gazing at the man curled against him. He blushed at the memories -- He hadn't known people could do things like that with one another. It had never been like that before…

But…It had been sooooo nice.

Naaza wiggled carefully out of Rajura's embrace, hardly daring to breathe, lest he wake the other man. Rajura made a little noise of protest and Naaza reached out to touch his cheek, still not really allowing himself to believe that this had all happened. The white-haired man seemed placated with the touch, so Naaza sat up, stretching and gazing down upon his slumbering companion.

Rajura's eyepatch had disappeared sometime over the course of the night. Naaza studied the hidden contents of the small black scrap of fabric, wondering how Rajura's eye had been damaged. It hadn't been completely lost; that much was obvious. But the scarred eyelid didn't close entirely either. A little sliver of white and iris showed, despite the fact that Rajura was clearly asleep.

It was fascinating, in a horrible sort of way. Naaza couldn't force himself to look away. He traced a spindly finger over the damaged eye, feeling the soft pucker of scarred skin beneath his work-toughened finger. He wished he could make that better, but knew there was no possible way…That damage had been done long ago.

Instead, he focused on the way the rest of his face looked, such a contrast to the gruesome injury that had left the scar. Rajura was a handsome man with strong, distinct features. Naaza had never noticed how long his eyelashes were before; they were as pale as the rest of his hair. They fluttered lightly against his cheeks as he stirred, rolling over onto his back and looking up at Naaza.

"Ohayo…" He murmured, yawning widely and rubbing his good eye. Rajura was not a morning person, of this Naaza was aware. He watched as the older man blinked sleepily, curling back up on his side among the bedding.

"Ohayo gozaimasu." Naaza replied softly, unable to look at Rajura again now that he was awake. He could feel color rising in his cheeks simply from thinking about the previous night.

Rajura stretched, fingers and toes spreading in a movement reminiscent of those of a lazy cat. His long hair tumbled about him, obscuring the view of his face. Naaza smiled a little; loving the luxury of being allowed to watch his lover wake. In the past, he had always left while Rajura was still asleep, but he knew instinctively that things were different now; that it was okay to watch.

"Are you hungry?" Rajura asked on another yawn. He was always hungry when he woke, especially after a night of sex. He knew Naaza didn't eat much, but he also knew the younger man would come with him, if he only asked.

Naaza shook his head. He was rarely hungry in the morning, though he usually forced himself to eat a little something. This morning, he was not hungry at all. He was flustered and nervous and he didn't even know why. Something about the way things had changed was giving him a fluttery feeling in the pit of his stomach and he still couldn't bring himself to look Rajura in the eye.

Rajura stifled another yawn, the back of his hand over his mouth. The same hand combed through his tangled curls, pushing them out of his face. He gave Naaza a sleepy, lazy smile, good eye half-lidded, bad eye obstructed by his hair. "Come here." He beckoned to the younger man, crooking a finger as if to draw him in.

Naaza went willingly, crawling across the bedding. Rajura watched appreciatively, eying the lithe body moving toward him. When Naaza was close enough, the white-haired man caught him gently by the chin, cupping his face between careful hands. He forced Naaza to meet his gaze, blue eye scanning the younger man's face. "Are you all right?"

Green hair fluttered as Naaza nodded again, almost nuzzling against the hands on his face rather than giving affirmation. Rajura's hands were warm, silk soft against his pale skin.

"Good." Rajura sat up, stretching again. He just sat for a moment, taking time to finish waking up, then set about searching the bedding for his eye patch. Naaza found it for him, handing it to him wordlessly and watching as the disfigured eye disappeared beneath its covering.

He watched as Rajura found his clothing, stifling his disappointment as the other man's skin disappeared beneath the flowing silk. Something inside of him was whispering that maybe they should just spend the rest of the day hidden away in that room, with no one to bother them and no one to further complicate their lives.

A more rational part of him said that such a thing could never be possible, nor could it be practical.

"You should get dressed." Rajura broke the silence, smiling down at him in a way that made his heartbeat quicken. He was fastening the sash of his yukata and looking for a missing sandal at the same time; and Naaza thought that even though he was sleep-rumpled and wearing yesterday's clothing, he still managed to look positively delicious in the watery morning sunlight.

"Hai." With a blush and a nod, Naaza set about getting himself ready for the start of a brand new day.

-----

The watery sun was just starting to set, casting the castle in an orange hue. Though daytime in the Youjakai was dreary and hazy, the sunsets were usually spectacular.

Rajura was reclined on the low porch, swathed in silk and drinking sake from a small wooden box. The art of relaxation was nothing new to him; the white-haired man had been a practicing hedonist for many years.

He set the box down, stretching languidly. It was summer, though not many could tell. He knew, however. Though the stifling heat and stale breezes were consistent almost all year long in the Youjakai -there was a small period where it actually cooled enough to feel like winter- Rajura knew the difference.

Summer, in fact, was drawing to a close. He could feel his own strength ebbing away as the end of the season drew near. And Naaza…He was coming more and more to life as the days passed; as his time approached.

The change in him was not lost on any one. He was much more energetic and his inky eyes much clearer. There was less insanity in his smiles and more contentment. He was usually much more normal in the autumn, but this was different.

Rajura's blue gaze wandered over to where Naaza was weeding his herb garden. The younger man was crouched down, carefully separating the plants from the weeds. No weed was cast aside, however, without a thorough inspection first. Rajura knew he was attempting to discern whether or not the weeds were of use and smiled fondly as Naaza listed a leaf carefully, sniffing it.

Naaza rose, chewing on the leaf and gliding through the neat rows of herbs and towards the porch.

Rajura leaned back against the post holding up the ceiling and extended a hand, fingers curling, beckoning. "Naotoki…Come." -- And he _came_; Rajura was still surprised that it worked, that he was so obedient. He came like that every time; no frown, no displeased look. Rajura wondered sometimes if it was his virtue at work. Didn't care at others.

Giving him a crooked smile - Rajura had come to recognize the crooked smile as the real smile - Naaza seated himself primly on the porch. He declined the sake when it was offered to him, choosing instead to gaze out over the land beyond the garden. "It is good weather for plants." He commented, voice light-hearted. He tipped his head up, a leaf turning towards the setting sun, a peaceful looks settling itself on his face.

"It's good weather for you." Rajura replied, watching the younger man with a small smile. The cracked lip was mending nicely, the bruise was no more than a shadow. And Naaza…was just so much more confident. He held his head up more, didn't constantly skulk through the shadows like a beaten dog. It was a drastic improvement.

Naaza had the modesty to blush at the statement, and he ducked his head shyly. "It is almost autumn…" He said softly, acting -for once- like the seventeen-year-old he was.

"Yes." Rajura acknowledged, sliding close and winding an arm loosely around the other man's waist. Naaza settled easily into both his side and the companionable silence that feel between them, eyes sliding shut. He didn't know how much Rajura loved him. Wouldn't know; even Rajura didn't fully understand the emotion himself. Words like "love" didn't exist in the Youjakai, just feelings, deep-seated and primal. They were tangled in one another, a blending of seasons, that period where it was neither and both summer and autumn.

"Your time is coming." Rajura continued after a moment, "And mine is ending. But now…It is _our_ time." His tone had a note of finality to it, as if he were leaving no room for contradiction.

Naaza didn't have any desire to argue, anyway.


End file.
